


Just To Get Me Through The Night

by trespresh



Series: I'm Half-Doomed, You're Semi-Sweet [11]
Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: (And we love him for it), Barry's kind of a slut, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Masturbation, Mentions of Team Arrow, Mutual Masturbation, Webcam/Video Chat Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-05
Updated: 2016-01-05
Packaged: 2018-05-11 20:33:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5640991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trespresh/pseuds/trespresh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He whines, quiet and needy. “I’ve missed you.”</p>
<p>Len chuckles on the screen. “I can see that,” he says, a demanding lilt to his voice as he adds, “Show me.”</p>
<p>Barry obeys, angling the camera down his body so Len can see him, naked and stretched out, hard in his own hand.</p>
<p>(In which Barry has been in Star City for a week, and isn't FaceTime a beautiful thing?)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just To Get Me Through The Night

**Author's Note:**

> I used lame excuses to keep Barry in Star City for so long... don't focus on that, it's not important. Also, for my [ babe ](http://that-pumpkinspicewhitegirl.tumblr.com/), who flailed about this idea with me and let me freak out about it without complaining once <3
> 
> Characters belong to DCU, title belongs to FOB.

Len has had a long day.

If it wasn’t Mick burning one of their more useful safehouses to the ground (accidentally, he claimed, though the loving look in his eyes as he watched the flames betrayed him), it was Lisa bugging him to help her plan a new heist that would catch the attention of that nerdy science kid she had a thing for (“Shut up, Lenny, as if you didn’t need help getting _your_ nerdy science kid to pay attention to you!”). And when he wasn’t dealing with his band of idiots, he was busy throwing the CCPD off his trail at the Heller Art Museum with a few well-aimed bursts of the Cold Gun and some clever one-liners (if he does say so, himself).

The good news about pulling off perfectly-timed heists lately is that Flash has been out of town for the past week. The bad news is that—

Barry has been out of town for a _week_.

Len wholeheartedly believes that being forced to go a full week without Barry—his pretty lips that swell just barely when Len kisses him hard enough, his ass that fits perfectly into the cups of Len’s palms, those devilishly vibrating hands that tease down the insides of Len’s thighs—is, _fuck_ , it’s a crime worse than any Len has ever committed.

He genuinely intends to jerk off as he walks into his apartment and locks the door behind himself, while he’s still got memories of Barry’s body burned into his mind’s eye, while Barry’s aching little moans still ring in his ears, but.

It’s been a hell of a day, and he’s asleep as soon as he falls into bed.

+

Barry has had a long day.

He’s been in Star City for a week, helping Oliver and Team Arrow with the escape of Double Down and reappearance of Damien Darhk, and it’s been tougher than he’d imagined.

Oliver had put him up in a plush, well-decorated room with floor-to-ceiling windows in one of Star’s nicest hotels to thank Barry for staying to help them, and it’s the breathtaking view of Star City’s twinkling lights and towering skyscrapers that Barry admires when he trudges into the room late one night.

He’s tired, his muscles still aching from going up against Double Down earlier. Part of him thinks he could collapse onto the soft bed and fall asleep in seconds, but another, much stronger part relishes the idea of some much-deserved stress relief.

His stomach flips a little at the idea, electricity thrumming through his fingers, and he turns the lights low before zipping over to rifle through his duffle bag for the small tube of lube he’d thrown in last minute before leaving home. He settles himself carefully back against the pillows on the bed, bending his legs at the knee and placing his feet flat against the mattress. The lube sits harmlessly next to him; he’ll need it later.

Oliver had instructed him to lay low for the night, get some rest before meeting up in the morning, so Barry’s got all night to himself. He wants to make this last as long as possible.

He trails his fingers under his t-shirt, letting them vibrate lightly while he strokes the smooth skin just above the waistband of his jeans. He shivers at his own teasing touch, swiping his tongue over his lips. Fingers shaking and heartbeat thrumming, he skirts feather-light over his already sensitive skin, hiking his shirt up over his belly button and enjoying the gentle scrape of his own fingernails.

It feels nice, his own light touch, his warm fingers, but.

He misses hard, possessive touches and cold fingers.

He lets out a shaky breath and trails down to his own hip, thumbs pressing into the skin there the way he’s used to, the way Len likes to hold him down, push him by the hips down into the mattress while Len leans over him and nips at his lips. Barry sucks his lower lip into his mouth, nibbles on it and thinks of the taste of Len’s tongue, the weight of him against Barry, those breathy little grunts sighed into Barry’s neck. His thumb pushes against his hip bone harder and he can’t help but whine.

He misses Len, and it shows, the way he’s already hard and straining against his jeans.

His heart bangs against his chest while he sits up enough to yank his shirt over his head, tossing it over the edge of the bed, already forgotten. With practiced ease, Barry flicks open the button of his jeans and slowly pulls the zipper down, letting his palm brush against himself with a sharp intake of breath. He lifts his hips and shuffles the denim down far enough to push his hand comfortably into his boxers. He gets a hand around his cock, dragging his thumbnail up the vein on the underside and picturing Len’s hand wrapped around him, those cold fingers a harsh juxtaposition to the heat radiating off Barry. He swipes up to smear some of the precum collecting at the tip before tugging a few soft, teasing strokes that have his hips jerking up against his own fist.

Len’s voice in his ear (“ _God, Barry, yeah”_ ), his icy blue eyes half-lidded and heated and so focused on Barry’s face, Len’s fingers, always cold from his gun, anchored around his hip and firm on his cock, stroking and confident in his rhythm like he knows exactly how tight to grip, how fast to jerk him to bring Barry so, so close to the edge without actually letting him tumble into that sweet, orgasmic high—

Oh _god_ , and Barry tightens his grip and strokes a little harder, needing just that little bit more friction because he can already tell he won’t last as long as he’d wanted. He flicks his wrist just so to send spikes of pleasure shooting up his spine, tossing his head back hard into the couch and closing his eyes. He can feel it all building up embarrassingly fast and, throat catching on a breathy moan, forces himself to let go of his cock.

He heaves a breath and swallows, staring dazedly up at the ceiling for a moment before fumbling for the tube of lube next to him. He manages to shimmy his boxers and jeans down his legs, kicking both to the floor and spreading his legs further, before coating two fingers.

God, even the _smell_ of the lube has his mind conjuring memories of Len’s fingers, shiny with the slippery liquid, circling around his hole while Len smirks and doesn’t bother to hide the hungry look on his face when he slips one into Barry—

Barry slides a finger into himself, humming lowly. He imagines Len’s finger in him, his hand curled around the base of Barry’s cock, stroking him lazily while he works Barry open, his fingers deep, watching just how much Barry can take.

Barry shifts to push a second finger in alongside the first, his other hand squeezing himself firmly at the feel of it; while he tries to twist his fingers, tries to push them deeper, it’s just all wrong. The angle is off and he can’t get his fingers quite deep enough.

It’s just not the same.

He pulls his fingers out and jerks himself a few more times. He sighs in frustration, still too tightly wound and needing just a little more than he can give himself. He needs to hear Len’s voice, see his face. It’s then that he fumbles for his jeans, digging through the pocket to pull out his phone.

The next breath comes out shaky, one hand still on his cock, the other tapping the screen to place the video call. The screen lights up and he watches, tugs himself idly.

He waits for what feels like _forever_ , momentarily fearing that Len might not answer, and, well. Barry just now realizes the time of night—nearly 2 a.m., _shit_ —but he waits, hopes against hope—

But then the call connects and he can just barely make out Len’s tired face, his heart skipping and cock twitching when Len’s voice, scratchy and gruff with sleep, answers, “Barry?”

“ _God_ , Len.” His voice comes out shaky and gravelly, and he knows he’s got Len’s attention when he hears the rustling of fabric as Len sits up in bed. Barry angles the camera further from himself so Len can see his mussed hair, his bare chest heaving with heavy breaths. “You got a minute?”

A light flicks on and Barry can see Len’s face now, sees him rubbing a hand over his eyes and stifling a yawn, but when Len looks at him, it’s with heated eyes, rapt attention. “All the time in the world, kid,” Len breathes, his voice low, still rough with sleep, and just the sound of it makes Barry’s cock grow harder in his hand.

He whines, quiet and needy. “I’ve missed you.”

Len chuckles. “I can see that,” he says, a demanding lilt to his voice as he adds, “Show me.”

Barry obeys, angling the camera down his body so Len can see him, naked and stretched out, hard in his own hand. His cheeks redden just a little because he’s never done anything like this before, never put himself so on display for someone like this, but something about the hitched gasp Len lets out when Barry strokes himself slowly grounds him. This is _Len_ who’s watching him, who holds him tightly and kisses his temple and teases him and makes him feel safe. It’s in the quiet hum on Len’s tongue that Barry finds his unwavering confidence now, tightening his hold on himself and whimpering.

He might as well put on a show.

“Christ, Barry.” Len’s voice has dropped an octave and Barry’s stomach flips.

He hums. “Was thinking about you.”

“Yeah?” Len asks, distracted, and Barry looks at the screen to see Len shifting. He can hear the rustle of clothes and Len’s quiet exhale, and he knows Len’s got a hand around himself, too. The thought of it, of Len in the bed they share, gripping his own cock hard as he watches Barry jerk himself—it’s almost too much. “What were you thinking about?”

Barry props the phone up against the rumpled bedspread, angled perfectly so Len can see the length of Barry’s body, and lets his free hand dance across the skin of his thighs.

“Your fingers,” he swallows thickly, “inside me. God, Len, they feel so good.” It comes out more like a whine than Barry had intended but fuck if he’s not too far gone that he just doesn’t care. If Len’s choked breath is any indication, Len doesn’t seem to care either. Quite the opposite, actually.

“You know,” Len says, and Barry looks over, can see the way Len’s bare shoulder hikes up and down slowly, rhythmically, and Barry tries not to think about how Len is stroking himself right now. “You could be back here in an hour and I could help you take care of this personally.”

Barry throws a lopsided, lazy grin at him. “Are you saying you don’t want to watch?”

Len’s smirk is easy, cocky in a way that forces Barry to grip the base of his cock to steady himself. “Please, continue.”

Barry chuckles and lets his back arch off the bed, lets his hips jerk up into his own fist. He allows a low groan to bubble past his lips, feeling a little filthy as he makes a scene of licking his lips and cupping his balls in his free hand.

Len swallows audibly and if Barry listens hard enough, he can hear the slick sound of Len’s hand on himself. “You look incredible like this, Barry, keep going.” His voice is a little shaky yet firm and commanding, and the sound of it has Barry’s hand stroking harder, pace quickening.

“God, _Len_.”

“Do you have lube?” Len asks, and Barry lifts his hand to show Len his fingers, still slippery with lube. Len chuckles, “Perfect,” and Barry keens with the praise. “I want you to put one inside yourself, Barry, okay?”

Barry nods frantically, shifting to rest one finger lightly against his hole. He moans a little louder than necessary when he eases the finger into himself, but it pulls a groan from Len that nearly stops Barry’s heart.

“Good, Barry, _fuck_ ,” Len curses hoarsely, and Barry lets his head loll to the side so he can meet Len’s heavy gaze, slowly sliding his finger out and then back in, his hand pulling loosely on his cock.

His jaw drops a little, his eyes hooded and pupils blown, and everything about Len’s eyes on him, gazing hungrily up and down his body, feels dirty and unbearably hot and Barry can already feel it all building up dangerously fast.

“Add another one,” Len instructs, and Barry does, immediately dropping his hips to fuck himself on his own fingers.

He lets out a high whine that Len echoes with a groan of his own. Barry can’t help it, it’s been over a week since he’s come, and Len’s voice is low and guttural over the tinny phone speaker, whispering curses and encouragement to Barry, promising filthy things with the way his tongue curls around every word. White hot heat pools in Barry’s lower stomach, and he can’t help it, _he can’t help it_ , he can’t bite back the noises that tear from his throat—

“ _Len_ , god,” he sobs, “I’m so—I’m close—”

It’s the low growl in Len’s voice when he breathes, “Let me see you come, Barry,” that has Barry seeing stars as he comes exhaustingly hard across his fingers and stomach, arching against the bed with his eyes fluttering closed, stroking himself through it. Somehow— _somehow_ —he hears the strangled moan from Len, glancing over in time to see Len’s face screwed up from his own orgasm, and Barry can’t help but feel a little proud that Len can come just from watching _him_.

He collapses back against the bed and breathes hard for a moment, blinking owlishly at the ceiling. When he’s come down from the high and the satisfied ache starts to set into his bones, he gets up to dart into the bathroom and clean himself up. Within a blink, he’s back in front of the camera to see Len’s lazy grin, his head resting back against the wall so the column of his throat is exposed.

“I’m _so_ glad I woke up for this call,” Len says, and Barry laughs, loud and unchecked, his eyes scrunching with his wide grin. Len smiles with this sated, fond glint in his eyes that has Barry’s heart warm and giddy in his chest.

“Me too,” he hums. “I think I’m almost done here in Star. I’ll be home in a few days, hopefully.”

Len nods. “Good. As much as I love watching you, I still prefer participating, myself.”

Barry smiles and buries his face into the pillow. He angles the phone so he can look at Len more directly. “I prefer you participating, too. But thanks. You know. For your help,” he says, waving a hand vaguely.

Len snorts a laugh and smirks. “It was my pleasure.”

“Yeah, I know,” Barry laughs. “Night, Len.”

“Goodnight, Barry.”


End file.
